


More Questions than Answers

by Lyricanna



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Divergance, Charity fanzine, Claude zine piece, DimiClaude if you squint, Gen, The Golden Scheme, takes place during the timeskip, warning for Dimitri's mental health issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:00:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25095004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyricanna/pseuds/Lyricanna
Summary: Claude receives several reports of strange activity and goes to investigate.  Sometimes it's not good to be proven right.
Kudos: 15





	More Questions than Answers

Claude went to take a sip of the Almyran Pine Needle tea and found his cup empty. He set the tea cup down, shuffled the reports on his desk and sighed. He reminded himself to be patient; all of the best laid plans and counter plans took time to grow to fruition. He surveyed his work and decided it would do. Like his son, Count Gloucester thought himself to be far more subtle than he was. This particular deception would lack delicacy, but Claude refused to miscalculate again by being too subtle; the last hook had been completely missed by father and son alike. A waste really.

He glanced at the carved wooden box on his desk and then at the candles lighting his office; they would burn for a while yet. He touched the top of the box gently, finding calm in the familiar grooves of the geometric carving. He easily found the small hidden buttons and pressed them just so to release the lock on the lid. This box was one of his most important possessions; it held all of his spy reports until he could deal with them or commit them to the flames of the hearth. It also held the reports that he had yet to puzzle out, the ones that were just out of the reach of his understanding; the ones about Dimitri.

That puzzle had become an itch that he couldn't quite satisfy, bordering on becoming a burning obsession. Claude knew that he was missing important pieces to this puzzle, knew that without them he couldn't make the pieces that he _had_ fit together. But once he did, he knew that the picture would be telling. He wanted to be the first to put them together, to understand what had happened to his friend in these intervening years.

Claude dug through the spy reports until he found the ones that he wanted, the ones he had read so many times that he almost knew them by heart, and set them in one pile. A second, smaller pile formed containing the newest reports. Out of habit, he reviewed what he knew about the situation.

When the monastery was attacked by the Empire, Dimitri and Claude had fought side by side, their houses at their backs, to do what they could to hold off the Empire forces long enough to allow the unarmed citizens time to escape. Dimitri had killed without mercy, without the usual noble artistry, instead displaying a disturbing combination of rage and delight. It had been a disquieting sight, if terribly efficient. A messenger had come, warning of an impending attack on the Kingdom and Dedue had managed to redirect his Prince's attention; the Blue Lions had left for the Kingdom in all due haste, hoping to reach it before the forces that had attacked the monastery and the forces riding in from the west of the Empire penned them in.

A few weeks later, news reached Claude that Dimitri had been accused of regicide; he had been captured, along with Dedue and several soldiers. He had weighed the situation carefully; the Kingdom forces were scattered, the rightful heir captured and Claude was too far away to do anything about it. He had resigned himself to shoring up the Alliance's defences, while Fhirdiad became hotly contested territory. The Kingdom loyalists were quelled by Cornelia, who gave the western half of Faerghus to the Empire; the eastern half guarded its territory and negotiated with the Dukedom of Faerghus out of necessity.

All of Claude's spies in the former Kingdom relayed the same message; Empire soldiers moved about freely, fearing no retaliation from the populace. For nearly a year, Claude had received messages regarding the Prince; Dimitri was being punished for his crimes. He was being held in one of Fhirdiad's worst cells; he was fed and watered twice a week. He had taken ill and killed guards in his delirium; he had lost an eye as punishment. Suddenly, there was an execution date announced; the Prince would hang. His royal blood allowed him that shred of dignity.

Yet the execution date came and went; days turned into weeks and weeks into months and no one had seen a body. That was the first piece of the puzzle that Claude had collected. Both in Fodlan and Almyra, dangerous criminals were publicly executed and put on display, proof that the threat was dealt with; a warning to others not to trespass in a similar fashion. No one had seen a body, a head, anything that offered proof of Dimitri's demise.

The second piece had come to him first as a rumour. Patrols of Empire soldiers were disappearing. Small groups at first, ten or twenty at a time. Then thirty or forty at a time. The reports became laced with fear when the first bodies were found. 'Indescribable carnage' was the most common description used, closely followed by 'it was hard to tell if the remains were even human'. The rumours were hushed up by the Empire, a loss that they couldn't afford their enemies to take advantage of. Claude's spies were well trained; they started to send him accurate body counts; one had seen the remains for herself.

Eventually there was the report that Claude had been waiting for; the report of a soldier who had survived just such an attack. He claimed that it was the doing of a lone lancer, inhuman and insane, gathering bloody tribute for demons. He had cut through thirty soldiers as if they were made of paper; the soldier had lived by sheer luck. The soldier claimed that the lone lancer was dirty but in solid armour and furs, howling and growling like a wild animal in battle. No description of physical traits ever made its way to Claude's ears – or eyes as it were – the lancer attacked in darkness, keeping his identity a secret.

Claude had only ever met one man with that sort of strength. An allegedly dead man. Yet there were many tall men, many men that fought more like rabid beasts than men, many people who hated the Empire for taking away their loved ones, their homes and their faith. It was inconclusive information, but it tickled the back of his mind, hinting at schemes that could never be put into action. He needed more information.

Years had past since the reports of slaughter had started to reach Claude; they were a part of the backdrop of war now, a chaotic variable he could never really plan for. He shook his head and began to go through the most recent reports, hoping that there was something useful in them.

Minor squabbles still popped up with frequency in the Empire, but Edelgard put them to rest swiftly and efficiently. It seemed that Hubert and Ferdinand still didn't get on well, even after all of these years; they opposed each others' proposed changes to the law as if on principle. A note found in the right place, with the right suggestion could easily drive that wedge further. He wrote a reminder on a scrap piece of parchment about that; he would need to dig out the samples of his former classmates' writing that he had collected during that school year in order to make it seem authentic; forgery was a delicate art, after all.

Claude picked up a short letter from one of his correspondents in Fhirdiad. Now there was some news. The relic of House Blaiddyd, Areadbhar, had been stolen. It was being hushed up, since no one wanted to take the blame for its loss, it seemed. Which struck Claude as odd; if a relic went missing, there was usually a reward to be had for its recovery and numerous warnings sent out about the dangers of wielding such a weapon without a Crest. There wasn't even a hint of a suggestion about who might have taken it or why. Which left Claude with two theories; either someone was a power hungry idiot who hadn't learned from what happened with Miklan almost five years ago. Or there was a Blaiddyd to wield it.

Claude leaned back in his chair and idly thumbed his ear ring, a habit he had developed in recent years when he was deep in thought. It didn't matter who he thought had taken Areadbhar, he eventually concluded; what mattered was where it was going. If Dimitri was alive... He froze as another thought occurred to him. If those same people that had done the blood reconstruction surgery on Lysithea had succeeded in giving the Crest of Blaiddyd to someone else, that could be a very real disaster waiting to happen. He grabbed his quill and a fresh piece of parchment and began writing notes for his spies. He needed more information, desperately.

Within the hour, carrier birds were winging their way west, into Faerghus and Adrestia, carrying orders for his most valuable spies. And then all Claude could do was wait.

~*~

The night wind was more than brisk as Claude flew towards the mountain range that separated Ordelia territory from the Empire. He moved instinctively with his wyvern as they flew, adjusting to the air currents, the updrafts and the thermals without thinking. Wyverns were not smooth flyers; they flew in short, jerky bursts as they beat their wings, gliding unexpectedly only to dip or climb in a burst of speed, constantly adjusting to the changes in the air. There was a reason that no one romanticized wyverns they way they did pegasi.

Claude watched the ground below; no one had noticed the lone flyer. Which was fine with him. He was alone, which was probably foolish but far preferable to waiting days for the Alliance to decide on how many guards he needed to investigate a hunch. He circled the mountains until he saw the old fortress that he had been looking for. With a light touch of the reins, he directed the wyvern to land. They descended quickly, back-winging at the last possible second to land on the wyvern's back legs. Well, its only legs; lacking front appendages was partly what made riding a wyvern so difficult.

He quickly dismounted and looked around; the fortress was abandoned, as far as he could tell. His wyvern curled up to nap and Claude smiled before turning to explore the fortress.

It was obvious as soon as he opened the door that no one had disturbed the place in years; there was dust everywhere and a musty smell that suggested rot and mould. He found himself coughing as he proceeded; he pulled out a handkerchief and held it to his face in an attempt to breathe easier. Before long, he found a stairway heading down to the basement and made his way down. Everyone hid the interesting things in the basements in Fodlan, Claude had quickly discovered.

He was soon to be disappointed; the basements proved empty and aside from a few pieces of medical equipment, he found nothing of interest. No one had been here in years; probably not since Lysithea herself had been here. Which meant that if the people who had experimented on her had managed to infuse some other victim with the Blaiddyd crest, they hadn't done it here.

Claude made his way back to his wyvern, waking it gently. He had one more trip to make tonight. He was simultaneously filled with excitement and dread; he reigned both emotions in and tempered his expectations. Either he would find what he was looking for or he wouldn't. He mounted his wyvern and turned to the west; towards Garreg Mach.

~*~

Even though four and a half years had passed, the destruction in the vast monastery grounds still seemed fresh. Perhaps that was the press of night, perhaps it was that more recent damage had occurred unbeknownst to him, but Claude felt something distinctly off as he landed near the grand cathedral. There was a smell that he couldn't quite place, a thickness that was out of place in the mountain air. And for all that the monastery grounds had looked abandoned from the skies, there were footsteps near the cathedral and the bridge.

Claude examined the tracks. They appeared to be made by one person, although there were also drag marks, caused by something heavy. He had no proof that Dimitri was really encamped here. Besides, Dimitri had always been strong enough to pick up Dedue as if the taller man were no heavier than a child. He wouldn't need to drag anything. Claude shook his head and walked over to the cathedral doors, pushing them open with an effort.

The first thing that hit him was the smell; fresh blood, rot, smoke and death, a pungent combination that was all too familiar. As he sorted through the scents, he realized that the smoke was fresh and a small fire was burning near the altar at the other end of the cathedral.

Claude cursed as the bones and bodies of dead animals and people in various states of rot and decay came into view. Charred pews and broken candle stands littered the floor and bugs meandered on their way towards all of the rotting things that they could consume. Blood and soot stained the once pristine floor; shattered glass caught the occasional flicker of firelight. The memory of the Empire's attack hung heavy in the air, tainting it with the miasma of betrayal. Or perhaps there was something in the smoke of the fire that was affecting his senses.

As he approached the rubble by the altar, he began to wonder if he had miscalculated. Something or someone was obviously here, even if they were keeping mostly out of sight. There was certainly no guarantee that whoever it was was alone either. And no one knew that Claude was here, aside from whoever hid in the ruins of the nave.

The crunch of his footsteps against the backdrop of the crackle of the tiny fire was louder than it should be, a sure sign of nerves that Claude was not expecting. He rested his hand on his sword, wishing it were his bow even though the sword was the more logical weapon choice should it come down to a fight.

A shadow loomed in the firelight for a moment. And then the fire was put out, plunging everything back into darkness. Claude stood motionless, waiting, listening. A scratch across the ground and then the whoosh of a spear stabbing something to his right. The sickly squishing noise of a small animal's demise. The scrape of a spear tip against stone floors.

“I hate rats,” an almost-familiar voice said almost apologetically. The sound of fur and metal armour shuffling drew Claude's gaze while the smell of blood and unwashed bodies filled his nose.

“Dimitri,” Claude half asked and half greeted.

“The question is, what kind of a rat are you?” Dimitri went on almost cheerily, as if Claude hadn't spoken.

“Good evening to you too, your princely-ness. What brings you here?” Claude forced himself to breathe slowly, to project a calm that wasn't entirely there. Dimitri was alive. That could prove useful. By the lack of weaponry glowing in the dark and the prince's obviously unwashed state, he hadn't been anywhere near Fhirdiad lately. Dimitri wasn't the one who had stolen Areadbhar.

“What brings me here, to my own den? Why a rat would seek out a ravenous beast is a much better question.” Dimitri finally stepped into a shaft of moonlight, allowing Claude to see him properly for the first time. His face was haggard, his single remaining eye unfocused; his armour was bloodstained and dented, in need of repairs and Claude couldn't even tell what colour his dirty fur cape was supposed to have been. Hearing Dimitri talk about himself in the same animalistic terms that Felix used to use was chilling.

“Chasing a rumour. Or perhaps a dream,” Claude replied airily. He was met with snarling laughter.

“There are only nightmares here. Dead bodies, spirits demanding recompense for the failures of the living. No one here is living.” Dimitri cocked his head as if listening to a voice that only he could hear before turning away.

“How long have you been hiding here?” Claude asked carefully, as if he really had no interest in the answer.

“Since I died.”

“You appear to be alive to me.”

“Appearances mean nothing. _Appearances_ can be contrived, created to deceive... If you yet live, if she hasn't destroyed you too, you could be a deception.” Dimitri turned and stared at Claude, looking him in the eye for the first time. “Or perhaps you seek recompense from me as well?”

“Shouldn't you be seeking the throne in Faerghus?”

“A traitor cannot be King. Duchess perhaps, but not King.” The words were dripping with venom. “The dead make demands but they do not rule.”

Claude stared at Dimitri, wondering how to handle this mess of a conversation. He had hoped to find his friend, hoped to bring him into an alliance, hoped to make use of his strength for the betterment of all of Fodlan. He had found Dimitri alive, but he clearly was not well. What Dimitri needed was a healer – and a bath. Claude just needed to convince him of that, somehow.

“Have you spoken to anyone from the Blue Lions since your... escape?”

“The living have nothing to offer me. There is no resistance to Edelgard's rampage. They will lick her boots and pay her tribute to save themselves. They would turn me over to her lapdog again if they found me,” Dimitri spat. All of the pain, rage and disgust was clear in his voice. He actually believed what he was saying, Claude realised.

“Yet here I am. I have no intentions of telling Edelgard of this little rendezvous. The Alliance still stands against her.”

“I will not walk into your cage. Leave me to my vengeance,” Dimitri growled. “And I'll leave you to your death.”

Claude tensed, waiting for Dimitri to strike, but nothing happened. Suddenly Dimitri was gone, noiselessly, like one of the ghosts that he had mentioned. There was no crunch of bone or glass, no footsteps or swish of a cloak. Even the rats and the bugs were still, as if waiting for something to pass.

“Areadbhar has been stolen,” Claude told the darkness. His voice was too loud in his own ears, but he continued anyway. “Aren't you worried that Edelgard found someone else to wield it?” Only the wind answered. Then the rats began to scurry about once again, and the night time noises of the ruins resumed. Once he deemed it safe to do so, Claude made his way to the big doors he had entered from, careful not to disturb the dead bodies that littered the cathedral.

Once he was outside, he took a deep breath of the fresh air, glad for the reprieve from the smell of death. His thoughts ran wild as he went through the motions of the meditative deep breathing techniques of his homeland. Dimitri was alive and either ill or insane or both. Someone had stolen a hero's relic and he still had no idea who it was or how they had accomplished it. The fortress where Lysithea had been experimented on was dormant; her tormentors could have other resources and locations to conduct their research and torture. There was a war with the Empire and he couldn't trust most of the Counts and Dukes that were supposed to be on his side not to sell them out.

Although his body was calmer, Claude still carried the worries and burdens of a nation. He needed to plan, to conspire, to make backroom deals and public treaties. For the first time in a very long time, he didn't have a clue where to start, let alone a solution. He mounted his wyvern and flew towards the first rays of sunlight feeling more alone than when he had started his journey that night.


End file.
